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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086890">Playing with fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeJean/pseuds/LeeJean'>LeeJean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Shameless: Mickey &amp; Ian Gap Fillers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, Enthusiastic Consent, Gap Filler, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Season 1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:41:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeJean/pseuds/LeeJean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A small scene between Ian and Mickey set in season one, before Kash pulls a gun and fucks things up.</p><p>Excerpt: Even Mickey knows that punching the guy who is sucking his cock is a step too far.  There are times that Ian will take it, accept Mickey’s boundaries, let himself be pushed away.  Now is not one of those times.  </p><p>But if it doesn’t stop, or Mickey doesn’t split Ian’s skin with his fists, he might just crack open himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Shameless: Mickey &amp; Ian Gap Fillers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Playing with fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My first Shameless fic.  I hope you enjoy.</p><p>Not beta read.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lock the door and flip the sign,” Gallagher says the moment Mickey steps inside the Kash and Grab.</p><p>Mickey pulls the door closed and clicks the lock shut. He leans back on the door, crossing his arms over his chest and feigning nonchalance. His heart beats a frantic rhythm in his rib cage. “Eager, are we?” Mickey asks, arching his eyebrows and leering at Ian.</p><p>Ian unties his apron as he comes around the counter. He’s gotten bolder, more self-assured and composed since their earliest encounters. He grins at Mickey, saying, “oh, and you’re not?”</p><p>Mickey licks his lips and sucks the bottom one into his mouth, biting down hard. He feels entirely out of his element. He’s not sure how a kid almost two years younger than him, a fucking Gallagher for Christ’s sake, can make him feel so off balance.</p><p>“Who doesn’t enjoy a good fuck?” Mickey says, pushing himself off the door and walking towards the back room. He likes this little bit of control, the feeling of Ian following him, wanting him.</p><p>Mickey knows that Ian might try to kiss him if given the opportunity. He needs to avoid that at all costs, so the moment he gets to the shelves, he starts undoing his pants. Hands grip his waist and spin him around. Ian pulls him in until they are flush from pelvis to chest. “Yeah, I’m gonna do that today,” Ian says. His hand finds its way to Mickey’s fly, but it’s not the rushed, frenzied grabbing Mickey has come to expect.</p><p>“Jesus Christ Gallagher, put some muscle into it.”</p><p>“You in a big rush? Got somewhere important to be?” Ian asks as he slips his hand inside Mickey’s pants and squeezes his cock.</p><p>“No,” Mickey says, and it comes out a little higher and more breathy than he would like. “But you’re supposed to be working, ain’t ya?”</p><p>“Fuck Linda,” Ian smirks, massaging Mickey’s hard dick over his boxers.</p><p>“Not my type,” Mickey throws back. He has no idea what to do with his fucking hands. Usually he’s got them braced up against something by now. Ian’s unoccupied hand still grips Mickey’s waist. Mickey thinks he should leave his fists curled firmly at his side. That would keep him out of trouble. But when has a Milkovich ever avoided trouble? He settles his hands on the small of Ian’s back, fighting the urge to draw him in closer. “But apparently her husband is yours.”</p><p>“Not anymore,” Ian states, earnest and honest, clear hazel eyes shining into Mickey’s. The unspoken ‘not since you’ hangs in the air, and it’s almost more than Mickey can take.</p><p>“Alright Gallagher. Let’s just get on with it,” Mickey says.</p><p>“Yeah, ok,” Ian says softly. He pushes Mickey’s pants and boxers down his thighs, then drops to his knees on the cold concrete.</p><p>“You ain’t gotta do that,” Mickey says before he can bite it back. Since when does he ever turn down a blowie? “I’m ready to go.”</p><p>“I know I don’t gotta. I want to,” Ian replies. The look he gives Mickey is so charged, it’s a wonder his dick doesn’t explode all over Ian’s face. He’s just about to demand that Gallagher ‘get sucking’ when Ian grabs him firmly at the base, and licks a fat strip up the underside of his cock.</p><p>It’s not the most experienced blow job that Mickey’s ever had. But when Ian tongues around the head of Mickey’s dick, it doesn’t fucking matter. Ian gently pulls the tip of Mickey’s cock into his mouth, and Mickey once again has to figure out where to put his stupid fucking hands. Gripping Ian’s hair and fucking his face probably isn’t the best idea, but once the thought of touching Ian’s hair is in Mickey’s head, he can’t get it out. Pushing the long strands back from his forehead, being able to see Ian’s eyes as he sucks him off. Or gripping Ian’s neck, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape. He settles for resting them on Gallagher’s shoulders, and Ian glances up at him, intense and searingly hot.</p><p>It’s soft and slow and so fucking good, Mickey is dizzy with it. Sex with Ian has always been a fight. Pulling and ripping and tugging. Jerking cocks and filling holes and thrusting as hard and fast as possible. Fingertip bruises on his hipbones and a sore ass that makes it hard to sit comfortably. And Mickey likes it. Fucking craves it, keeps coming back for more, despite the danger. But now Mickey discovers that slow and sweet may not be so bad, and if that isn’t just the gayest pussy shit ever, he doesn’t know what is.</p><p>The urge to clock Gallagher in the face rises unbidden. Affection is a complicated, twisted thing for Mickey. It doesn’t come for free, and it doesn’t come without pain and consequences. Not in the Milkovich household. But even he knows that punching the guy who is sucking your cock is a step too far. There are times that Ian will take it, accept Mickey’s boundaries, let himself be pushed away. Now is not one of those times.</p><p>But if it doesn’t stop, or Mickey doesn’t split Ian’s skin with his fists, he might just crack open himself. “Get in me,” he says, voice rough, like he’s the one that’s been sucking dick. “Get in me, Gallagher”. He tries to sound demanding, but it’s so close to pleading, Mickey wants to punch himself in the face.</p><p>Ian pops off his dick fast, bouncing to his feet in front of Mickey. “Fuck, Mick,” he says, eyes wide. Mickey resists the impulse to close his own eyes. ‘Mick’ is a nickname. A term of endearment. A line they shouldn’t cross. But it sounds so good escaping Ian Gallagher’s swollen red lips.</p><p>“That’s the plan,” Mickey says, moving to turn around and bend over. A hand on his shoulder stops him. “What the fuck, Gallagher?”</p><p>“Trying something new,” Ian says, looking down at the floor. He pushes Mickey back until his ass hits a rickety old desk. It’s usually covered with damaged, unsellable goods. Today it’s empty. “Hop up on the desk.”</p><p>Mickey obeys before his mind can catch up and question why. Ian leans over and pulls Mickey’s shoes off, slips his pants and boxers down and over Mickey’s feet. He stands up, finally looking at Mickey while he pops open his fly. “You really ready to go?”</p><p>“I said I was, didn’t I?” Mickey pulls his tank off over his head, leaving himself totally naked and exposed in front of Ian.</p><p>Mickey watches as Ian pulls out his dick. The heady rush of anticipation floods through him. This part he’s familiar with. This part he can handle. The main event, fucking. Finally.</p><p>But Mickey’s never watched as he was entered. He’s never seen Ian’s face, cheeks flushed red as he pushes his dick past Mickey’s tight ring of muscle. Never had Ian see him grimace, and slow down, pushing in ever so slowly. Never had someone hitch his leg up over their shoulder, holding the calf tight with one hand. Never had someone grip his sweaty thigh, struggling for purchase, leaving marks where no fingers have ever been.</p><p>It feels the same. The slow drag of Ian’s cock, filling him, completing something inside of him he didn’t realize needed completing. The hint of pain that Mickey seems to get off on. Ian’s balls against his ass when he finally bottoms out. Ian standing over him, while they are joined, together yet still separate. It’s the same.</p><p>But it’s also different. Good different? Bad different? It’s Ian staring down at him with wonder. It’s Mickey’s hands on Ian’s skin while they fuck. It’s the intimacy of this act, the trust it implies. It’s Mickey flat on his back, taking it up the ass like a little fucking bitch. And still liking it, needing it, knowing he’s going to crave this, too, and feeling like a fucking twat because of it.</p><p>This time, Mickey figures his hands out quickly. He pushes one arm above his head, bracing a hand on the wall to prevent being fucked through it. The other he wraps around Ian’s wrist where his hand clutches Mickey’s thigh.</p><p>Ian opens his mouth, and Mickey swears to God, if he spews some romantic shit, it’s over. Blood will be spilled. “This feels so good,” Ian whispers, and Mickey can’t argue. It does feel good. So fucking good. It always does. They usually just don’t talk about it.</p><p>Mickey was close during the blow job. He’s been teetering on a knife’s edge for minutes, but hearing Ian’s voice has him arching up and coming without a single touch to his dick. He squeezes his eyes shut, spilling all over his stomach and moaning like a whore.</p><p>It’s embarrassing as fuck. Since he knows he won’t spontaneously disappear like he wants, he opens his eyes, prepared to push Ian off him and get the fuck out. But Ian’s dropping Mickey’s leg and folding his body over Mickey’s. His rhythm is still fast and punishing, but the hot breath on Mickey’s collarbone feels surprisingly intimate. Ian doesn’t touch him with his mouth, doesn’t kiss his neck or chest. He doesn’t have a death wish. And Mickey’s glad, ‘cause he doesn’t want to kill the kid. Not really.</p><p>Ian finishes with a grunt, pulling back and smiling too widely down at Mickey. The front of his shirt is covered in Mickey’s come. Like he’s marked, or something. The thought does alarming things to Mickey’s already strained heart.</p><p>Ian lets his cock slip free, and Mickey sits up, careful not to disturb the desk too much and go crashing to the floor. “So, that was...good.” Ian says.</p><p>“No shit,” Mickey replies. He’s finding it hard to keep a smile off his face in his fucked-out state.</p><p>“Something we could do again?”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe. Whatever.”</p><p>“Cleanup’s kinda a bitch though,” Ian says lightly, and Mickey immediately feels more sure of himself. The banter, the playful bickering, the push and pull between them; that he can deal with. He grins up at Ian’s freckled face, still flushed and sweaty.</p><p>Ian pulls at the bottom of his shirt and drags it over Mickey’s stomach, wiping up the come that hasn’t already soaked into the material. “The fuck are you doing, Gallagher? You don’t got paper towel in this joint?”</p><p>Ian shrugs and says “the apron will cover it.”</p><p>“You’ll smell like a whorehouse,” Mickey say, and Ian lets out a little chuckle.<br/>
They get dressed and exit the back room, Mickey following Ian this time. Ian jumps behind the counter, and he’s right; the apron does cover the jizz stains. Mickey hesitates, rolls once on the balls of his feet as he watches Ian unlock the door, and says, “gotta go.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Ian asks nonchalantly. He grabs a box of apples off the front counter and starts stacking them on the display.</p><p>“Yeah. Got important shit to do,” Mickey says. Yet he can’t quite get himself to move to the door. “I should pick up a few supplies for the house first, though. Fucking Joey drank all the juice this morning.” It could be true.</p><p>“I’ll help you,” Ian says, and rushes to grab a bag behind the counter. “Juice: check. What else do you need?”</p><p>Mickey makes up a list off the top of his head. He follows Ian around the store, listening to him chat and wondering what the fuck he is doing lingering with someone he’s banging. He pays quietly, and thank fucking God, Ian has fallen silent too. Mickey strides to the door, confident now in his escape. He’ll go home, get a hold of himself. Fuck all this pansy ass shit with Gallagher.</p><p>His hand hits the door. He’s just about to push himself to freedom when Ian clears his throat. Mickey stalls for a second. It’s long enough.</p><p>“What are you doing later?” Ian asks. Mickey can hear the hunger in his voice. It twists something in Mickey’s chest, something he hasn’t felt before. He turns around slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ian, poised hopefully by the register.</p><p>“Dunno. Probably target practice.” Mickey looks at Ian, but drops his gaze quickly. Why is it so hard to maintain eye contact with Ian fucking Gallagher?</p><p>“Want some company? I’m off in a couple hours.”</p><p>Mickey knows that it’s a stupid fucking idea. He can see it in Gallagher’s burning eyes, feel it in his own wildly beating heart. But the promise of seeing Ian again so soon is as tantalizing as it is terrifying. The pull to be with him is strong, even if they leave their clothes on.</p><p>What he needs to say is, ‘fuck you, faggot. I’ll find you the next time I wanna bang.’ What actually comes out of Mickey’s mouth is, “yeah, whatever firecrotch.”</p><p>He moves to leave, bag of unneeded food dangling from one hand as he pushes the door open with the other. He swears he can feel the weight of Gallagher’s gaze heavy on the back of his neck, prickling his feverish skin. Mickey glances back, shrugging and throwing Ian a lopsided grin. “Bring some beer. And change your fucking shirt before you show up, you filthy animal.” Ian’s answering smile is luminous, and Mickey stumbles forward out the door to get away from it.</p><p>Once outside, he closes his eyes for just a second to get his bearings. Instead he sees Ian’s brilliant smile, directed at him, and feels his heart lurch in his chest while his gut heaves with self-loathing and fear. Fuck, this is a dangerous game he’s playing. It can’t end well. There’s that old saying, ‘when you play with fire you’re gonna get burned.’ Mickey thinks about being able to run his hands through Ian’s fiery hair, touch his neck, cup his cheek, kiss his lips, and wishes he wasn’t so fucking afraid of getting burned.</p>
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